


xmenbigbang fic: City of the Dead

by swagneto



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, xmenbigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:17:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagneto/pseuds/swagneto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mummy fusion! Erik is a former member of the French Foreign Legion, saved from the noose by Charles Xavier and his treasure-hunting sister, Raven. In return, he agrees to help Charles locate the Book of Amun-Ra, said to be hidden in the legendary city of Hamunaptra. Meanwhile, Sebastian Shaw and his team of ruthless treasure seekers also find their way to the lost city with the help of Remy LeBeau, an old war comrade of Erik's. Digs are sabotaged and Charles's lifelong dream of finding the famous book seems ruined when Shaw frames Erik for an archaeology crime he did not commit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	xmenbigbang fic: City of the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Written for xmenbigbang! You can find the _amazing_ artwork by thedeathchamber over [here!](http://thedeathchamber.livejournal.com/11790.html)
> 
> The story contains one minor character death, and one past/flashback character death. Please see endnotes if this concerns you.

Sometimes Erik wonders what his life would be like if he weren’t so susceptible to spontaneous bursts of pure impulse. Certainly, he thinks, he wouldn’t be curled up on the ground in an Egyptian prison.

It goes like this: Erik Lensherr can’t deny a pretty face, or a chance to prove himself. Combine the two, and really, he should have known it would not end well.

It had started in Paris with pretty tumbles of brown curls and eyes that made him want to be more, do more. She looked at him with an easy, gracious smile, asked him why on Earth she should waste her time with him in a tone that suggested she was waiting to be impressed. He had hesitated for just a moment before making the kind of snap decision that has a long history of getting him in more trouble than he bargained for.

“I’m joining the Legion tomorrow,” he had said, knowing the second the words were out of his mouth that he would come to regret them. “This may be my last chance to engage in conversation with a lovely woman.”

The rest happened faster than he could follow. There was one night of great sex, fingers wound tightly into that mess of curls, and then he was being handed a uniform and a gun and swearing an oath to the French Foreign Legion.

Impulse. One day, he would learn to curb it, he swore.

Now, Erik shakes filthy hair out of his eyes and tries his best to get comfortable on the hard ground. Sand has made its way into every crease of his clothes, embedded in his matted hair and hard and gritty between his teeth. His throat is parched dry, lips cracked and his tongue too thick in his mouth to do anything about it.

Today, he’s going to be hanged.

 

 

The book in Charles’s hands is heavy and worn, pages threatening to tear at the slightest touch and the writing on the spine faded to the point of being barely legible. He sets it down at his favourite table in the corner of the library with great care before sitting down and flicking on the small desk lamp. A surreptitious glance around assures him that he’s alone. Slowly, cautiously, he opens the book in front of him, willing the pages to withstand his handling. The spine creaks but the book remains intact, and Charles sets to devouring it with hungry eyes. He lets his fingers trace the hieroglyphs reverently as he reads, translating in his head as he goes.

This is Charles’s favourite time of day, when the curator, McCoy, has gone home and Charles is left alone, hidden behind the stacks as he lets the ancient words wash over him. His fingers know the hieroglyphs in this book like he knows his own hand, the slightly raised edges allowing him to read with touch as much as sight.

Charles has always coveted words, but there’s something about Egyptian language, Egyptian culture, that fascinates him beyond belief. It’s a challenge of sorts, converting what appear as random pictures to actual words in his mind. He likes the way the pages feel beneath his fingertips, worn and old and somehow brimming with life.

He’s so engrossed in the book in front of him that when a crashing sound reverberates around the museum, it startles him out of his chair. Uselessly, his fingers try to scrabble at the table in front of him, but it’s too late. Finding himself sprawled on the floor, Charles sits up in a daze, straightening his reading glasses on his nose. For a split second, he forgets what knocked him out of the chair in the first place, and then he’s on his feet.

After surveying the library quickly, Charles concludes that nothing has fallen over or would otherwise be responsible for the noise. He leaves his desk lamp on and his book open as he heads through the stacks towards the Ramesseum. This late at night, the only sound in the museum is of his own footsteps, echoing off the walls around him. It would be eerie, he notes, if he hadn’t been spending the majority of his days here for the last three years.

“Hello?” he calls tentatively as he enters the Ramesseum. The lamps he’s lit do little to brighten the room - McCoy says that minimal lighting adds to the effect of the place and by extension, the profit he makes from tourists. Far less frightening than a dimly lit room filled with mummies, however, is the idea of some kid breaking into the museum on a prank and damaging the display. Any harm to the museum on Charles’s watch comes out of his pay, which is far more than he can afford.

Which is why when Charles hears another thud, he groans aloud and starts preparing his This Isn’t A Playground lecture.

“Charles?”

At the sound of his name, Charles starts, pulling his glasses off and folding them into his pocket so that he can peer around a sarcophagus.

A bright grin greets him from the floor. “Well, help me up then.”

Charles rolls his eyes but holds out a hand to hoist the woman up anyway, eyeing her with reproach. “Raven, how many times do I have to explain to you how delicate the exhibits are? Be careful, for the love of-- What’s that?”

His sister flashes him a wry smile and quickly hides the object behind her back. “I’ll show you if you promise not to be angry with me. It’s been a long night and the last thing I want to do is listen to you lecture me.”

“Raven-”

“Do we have a deal?”

In some part of his mind, Charles knows that he’s going to regret asking. It’s not the first time Raven has come to visit him with some sort of artefact that she’s dug up, legally or otherwise. He supposes he should be glad that she takes such an interest in his line of work, but on the other hand, she’s mostly in it for the treasure.

“Yes, yes, we have a deal. No lectures. What is it?”

“Our ticket to riches, Charles! If it is, what I think it is. Which is why I brought it to you.” Raven brings her hand back into view, clutching what looks like a small box. Gingerly, Charles plucks it out of her fingers to inspect it.

“It’s like a puzzle…” he murmurs. It’s octagonal, made of two conjoined sections, strange grooves cutting the top into triangles. Intricately carved hieroglyphs line the sides.

“What is it?” Raven asks again, and Charles holds a finger up to quiet her as he fiddles with the box, finding that the two sections rotate, like a puzzle box. Curiously, he slides them in opposite directions, and Raven inhales sharply as the triangles on the top unfold, splaying open into a star shape.

Eyes wide, Charles looks up to meet his sister’s gaze. “Raven, where did you-”

“Shh, look inside!”

Charles does as he’s told. With the box seemingly open, Charles can see a folded piece of papyrus tucked inside. Years of working in a museum make his touch light and careful as he withdraws it, batting Raven’s hands away when she tries to reach for it. The paper unfolds easily enough under Charles’s cautious handling and he takes a moment to stare at it, hardly believing what’s in front of his eyes.

“ _Hamunaptra_.” His voice is almost a whisper. “Raven, it’s Hamunaptra.”

 

 

“Here. Last mercies,” the Warden says, grinning toothily as he slips a small bottle of water through the bars. Erik lunges for it, fumbling to unscrew the cap and soothe his throat. He drinks half the bottle before he comes up for air, feeling the water heavy in his stomach and knowing he probably should have paced himself. He doesn’t care.

“Come to kiss me goodbye?” He shoots the Warden a quick flash of a grin and watches in satisfaction as his lip curls in distaste.

“You have visitors.”

A moment of confusion shocks Erik into silence. He hasn’t had a single visitor for the entire duration of his stay in this godforsaken place and he wasn’t expecting anyone to start now. In Cairo he’s a non event, a former Legion Colonel - a deserter - that has to be dealt with as a courtesy to the Legion. Fifty pounds is the reward to see him executed, a fee that Erik feels is a little short for a price on his life.

In any case, apparently someone has decided to care enough to see him off, and Erik supposes he might as well indulge them. He forces himself to his feet and as soon as the bars are unlocked and swung open a pair of guards seize him on either arm, all but dragging him out of his cell.

“My legs do still work,” he offers bitterly, but neither of the guards spares him a second glance.

The sunlight that hits his eyes as they move him into the public’s eye (still safely behind more bars, mind you) is too bright in contrast to his dark cell and he clenches his lids tightly against it.

“Is this him?” a voice asks. Erik detects an English accent and forces himself to open his eyes out of sheer curiosity. A man and a woman are standing before him, the woman peering through the bars to get a better look at him.

“Who are you?” Erik asks, curling his fingers around the bars to help hoist himself up onto his knees.

The man takes a step closer to the bars and holds out a hand. Erik stares at it, then back up at the man’s face in bewilderment.

“Seriously?”

The hand is retracted and a hint of colour rises on the man’s cheeks, and Erik can’t help but appreciate the view at least a little.

“I’m uh, Charles Xavier. This is my sister, Raven.”

The woman, Raven, grins at him and waves. Erik doesn’t wave back.

“Yes?”

The man - Charles - pauses for a moment, hesitant. Erik waits him out. Even sitting here in silence is still better than being back inside his dingy cell, away from the sunshine and fresh faces. The sand is rough on his knees and his bruised and grazed knuckles hurt a little with how hard he has to clutch the bars to keep himself upright, but it’s still worth it.

“We came to ask you…” Charles starts, but Erik cuts him off suddenly.

“Wait. Don’t I know you?” He directs his question at the woman, Raven, and she has the decency to look sheepish.

“I may have, well. Knicked your box. Thing.” She blushes, and her brother looks at her disapprovingly.

“You told me you found it and that this man started to tell you about it before he was arrested.” The accusation in Charles’s tone is clear, but it doesn’t seem to affect his sister.

“So I stretched the truth a little. He was drunk, it was sticking out of his pocket clear as day, what was I supposed to do?”

“Well, not resorting to thievery would perhaps be a start, Raven, honestly I-”

“I’m still here,” Erik says with a light shrug. “Just in case you were wondering.”

Charles’s eyes widen a little and he stares at Erik with such intensity that Erik thinks perhaps he did forget they had company. Erik returns his gaze steadily, meeting brilliant blue eyes with his own.

“As I was saying, we came to ask you about the uh, box,” Charles says, finally shaking himself out of his lapse in concentration.

Erik sighs long and hard. Really, he knew this would happen as soon as he noticed the box was missing, and with it, the map. It was only a matter of time before whomever stole it tracked him down and starting asking questions. If he’s being honest, this Charles Xavier and his thieving sister are not exactly what he was expecting.

Still, he remembers the day he acquired the box. He remembers the sand and the gunfire, a dripping sun heavy on a wavering horizon.

 

 

“Orders finally came down the line. Heard from LeBeau,” Tony had told him as Erik threw his dagger repeatedly into the sand, watching the grains hug the blade tightly before he drew it out again.

“Oh? Where are we headed?”

So far, Erik’s stint with the Legionnaires had been decidedly uneventful, and he was growing restless. A skirmish here and there as they crossed the Sahara, but nothing fruitful. Not privy to the information higher up, Erik could only speculate about what the hell they were doing in the first place, and Tony had been no help either.

When Erik remembers Tony, he remembers him as he was that day - grinning down at Erik as he stood over him, the sun shining brightly on his shoulders and a sparkle in his eye. It’s better than the alternative, the last time Erik saw him, with glassy, unseeing eyes, blood staining the sand brown.

“Whispers say Hamunaptra,” Tony said with a hint of a laugh.

“It doesn’t exist.”

“I beg to differ.” For a moment, Tony dug around in his pockets until he came up with a small metal box, lifting it into the sunlight. “My proof,” he announced, tossing it to Erik.

Curious, Erik prodded at the box, feeling the engraved hieroglyphs under his fingers. “What is it?” Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he twisted the box just so and it sprung open.

“Found it buried in the sand a few days ago. Looks like a map, but even I can’t make heads or tails of it. Asked LeBeau, but he’s got no clue either.” He cracked a grin. “The colonel thinks it‘s Hamunaptra. Hence, the expedition through this godforsaken desert.”

“I told you, it doesn’t exist.” But as he withdrew the map, he was less and less certain.

“Well, apparently that is neither here nor there. We move tonight.”

With a shrug, Erik closed the box and handed it back, watching as Tony stuffed it back into his pocket. Erik pulled his dagger out of the sand once more and sheathed it at his hip, routinely checking that his revolver was still tucked into his other side. His belongings secured, Erik propped himself up against a tree, grateful for its presence in the desert despite the prickly needles digging into his back. With a quick tug he pulled his neckerchief up over his eyes and left his hand resting on his pistol.

“Best get some shut eye while you can then, Stark.”

 

 

Erik felt like he’d been asleep for a whole two minutes before he was being shaken awake again by a rough hand on his shoulder.

“Get up, Lensherr. Now.”

The urgency in Tony’s tone left no room for argument. Erik reluctantly opened his eyes to find his friend holding his rifle and glancing worriedly over his shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

“It would appear we need not go searching for Hamunaptra.” Tony grinned a little despite the glances he keeps throwing behind him. “We camped just over the rise from the ruins. Could’ve sworn it wasn’t there last night, but it sure as hell is now.”

Erik was on his feet in seconds, checking for his pistol and his knife before he reached for his own rifle. “Seriously?”

“See for yourself, my friend.”

Erik obliged, following Tony to the crest of a sand dune, laying flat on his belly in the sand when prompted. Shielding his eyes, he squinted through the sun and almost let off a round of bullets in shock. In front of him stretched the ruins of Hamunaptra, as promised. Already the garrison was under attack, the sound of gunshots and screaming filled his ears.

“Tuaregs,” Tony explained from beside him. “Sworn to protect Hamunaptra in all of its glory.”

“Well, fuck,” Erik said with feeling, and together they scrambled to their feet and rushed towards the battle.

Since the day Erik joined his garrison of the Legionnaires, he had heard story after story about the legend of Hamunaptra, the forgotten city of riches and treasures beyond the dreams of men. He’d heard, but he hadn’t believed, and now the city ruins lay at his feet.

The sight of a Tuareg warrior charging at him was enough to snap Erik out of his own head. In a second he brought his rifle up, ringing out a shot and not waiting to watch as the man fell. Around him, the Legionnaires were dropping like flies. With them, they took a significant number of Tuaregs, but it was never going to be enough. Erik could tell even as he met Tony’s eyes that there was no hope. They’d been unprepared, scattered and taken by surprise. They may have found Hamunaptra, but none of them would be taking anything away from it.

“Erik!”

Tony’s warning was enough to send another man to the ground by Erik’s rifle. He cursed loudly as it jammed, spotting another soldier aiming at him. No time. His rifle was thrown into the sand, abandoned. He reached for his pistol but could see even as he did so that there wasn’t going to be time enough.

Until he heard another shot ring out, and saw the man drop to the sand.

“You’re welcome!” Tony called out, and Erik turned to thank him only to find his mouth forming a warning instead.

“Tony--!”

The warning reached him too late. Erik’s legs flew beneath him, feet kicking up clouds of dust and sand as he made a dash for Tony, reaching him just as Tony’s knees hit the ground hard. Erik slid to his knees and grabbed him, pressing a hand tightly to Tony’s chest where the bullet had torn through. Blood ran between his fingers and he pressed harder, trying and failing to staunch the wound. He felt Tony go limp and heavy, his body slumping against Erik’s.

“Damn it, Stark--”

The sound of gunshots continued to ring in the air, and Erik knew he couldn’t stay still long. Gently, he lowered Tony’s body back onto the sand and was about to run for cover when he saw the box fall out of Tony’s pocket. In a split second decision, he seized it, and then his legs were carrying him back across the sand, away from the sound of bullets and Tony’s blank stare.

 

 

“Hamunaptra,” Erik says. The word is bitter on his tongue.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he steps a little closer to the cage, bending down to lower himself to Erik’s eye-level. “Yes.” He says it on a breathy exhale, his eyes shining. “How did you know--”

Erik thinks of the ruins, of how many days and nights he spent traipsing the desert on the whims of a treasure-obsessed Colonel only to find blood in its place. He thinks of Tony, and the last thing he wants to do is talk about Hamunaptra.

But then there’s this… Charles Xavier, who is looking at Erik like he has the answers to everything he’s ever wanted.

“I was there,” Erik says carefully, measuring his words and watching the reaction he gets. Raven grins and shoots her brother a look that clearly says he should forgive her for any wrong-doing she may have caused in stealing the map.

Charles isn’t looking at her though. His eyes are fixed solely on Erik. “You were?”

Raven looks suspicious. “How do we know you’re not lying to us?”

Erik spares her a glance. “I wish I were. I was there, that’s where I found the box. Believe me or not, I really couldn’t care less.”

The look Charles gives him is hopeful and wary at the same time, clearly in thought. “Would you help us? Tell us how to get there?”

At this point, Erik would do a lot of things to get out of this hell of a prison. However, none of them will matter when he’s hauled off to the noose. He can see the guards moving back towards him and he knows his time is up.

“Get me out of here,” he begs, reaching through the bars to clench a hand in Charles’s shirt and pull him forward. The man stumbles, grabbing on to the bars to steady himself as Erik tightens his grip. “You want my help, get me the _fuck_ out of here.”

All at once there are rough hands on his arms again and Erik is being dragged up and away from the bars. He looks desperately down to where Charles Xavier is still crouched and staring up at him with shocked blue eyes. And then he’s pulled back inside and the door is slammed shut.

 

 

Charles stares dumbly at the closed door, his fingers still wrapped around the bars. When he finally comes back to his senses, his gets to his feet to find the warden that showed them in standing behind him.

“Where are they taking him?” he asks, trying not to let his desperation show.

The warden smiles, large and toothy and unpleasant. “He has an urgent appointment with the noose.”

For a split second, panic threatens to cloud Charles’s rational mind. Without that man, his chances at finding Hamunaptra are drastically reduced, even with the map he holds in his hand. They need a guide, someone who’s been there before and knows the way. Charles suspects that he may have found one of the few people alive who fits that description, and he’s not willing to let him go.

The warden starts to shuffle off and Charles follows behind him quickly, Raven in tow. “I need that man alive. I’ll pay you to spare his life, please.”

As they enter the gallows courtyard, the warden laughs. “He’s a Legion deserter. I am already being paid to watch him die.”

Charles looks nervously ahead to the raised platform in the centre of the courtyard. Already the other prisoners are flocking the balcony, circling the courtyard. Some even look eager, and Charles feels his stomach lurch a little at the idea of people anxious to watch someone hanged, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The warden is settling into his seat, and Charles rushes to catch up again, slipping into the seat beside him.

A roar goes up from the crowd, some angry and some excited as the guards drag a prisoner out into the courtyard and up onto the platform. Lensherr spots him in his seat above the gallows, but his stony expression doesn’t alter.

“I’ll pay you double,” Charles pleads.

The noose is pulled over Lensherr’s head.

“Two hundred pounds!” Charles leans forward in his seat, his eyes flicking between Lensherr and the warden. If this man dies, so does everything he’s spent his life researching and wondering about.

“Don’t stop!” the warden yells down to the Hangman, who’s paused and looking up at Charles in confusion.

The noose is cinched tightly around Lensherr’s neck and the Hangman steps towards the lever. Charles meets Lensherr’s eyes again and can tell that he’s hanging on every word, waiting to meet his fate.

“Three hundred pounds, just let him go for the love of God.”

The warden turns to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Interesting, but no.” With a wave of his hand, he gestures for the Hangman to proceed.

Fuck, Charles thinks, and throws all caution to the wind. "Five hundred pounds!” It's almost everything he has, but if they can make it to Hamunaptra, he thinks, that won't matter.

“Stop!”

The word rings out through the gallows and the hand on the lever halts; Lensherr looks up hopefully.

“If you’re lying to me, I’ll kill him myself.”

Charles breathes a sigh of relief, struggling to calm his breathing. “I’m not. Release him.”

With a disgruntled nod from the warden, the Hangman slices through the rope above Lensherr’s head. From the platform, the prisoner tugs the knot loose and looks up in disbelief.

Charles waves down at him with a grin.

 

 

For all that Charles loves Egypt, the hustle and bustle of Giza port is probably something he could do without. There are merchants and beggars flocking the streets on all sides of him, holding out trinket after trinket, as though a miniature, overpriced King Tut is exactly what he’s wanted all his life.

“I miss my library,” he mutters to Raven beside him, longing for the peace and quiet of the stacks surrounding him, the dusty pages beneath his fingers.

“Yes, well, you won’t find Hamunaptra in your library will you?” The smile on Raven’s face is bright and open as she manoeuvres her way through the crowd. This is Raven in her element, about to embark on a quest for lost treasure. Tucked deep into her pocket, Charles knows, is the map, now their most prized possession. He can see the way Raven keeps one hand in the same pocket as she walks and Charles smiles to himself. At least he knows their investment is safe in her hands.

“Xavier, right?”

The voice startles Charles back to himself, turning his head sharply to find a man standing behind him. After a split second of confusion, Charles realises it’s Lensherr, but he’s not the same man Charles met in a Cairo prison. His hair has been trimmed immaculately, his dirty and torn clothes replaced with neatly pressed white linen and slacks. A small bag is thrown over his shoulder, which Charles guesses is the remnants of whatever possessions he owns.

“Charles is fine,” he manages to get out once he realises that he’s been staring, dumbstruck.

“Erik,” Lensherr says, holding out a hand. Charles takes it in return, feeling the strong grip and calloused hands and forcing himself not to hold on longer than necessary.

When he pulls away, Raven rolls her eyes and gives him a look that he pointedly ignores.

“Do you have it?” Erik asks, looking from Charles to Raven and back again.

“Yes,” Raven starts, fingers curling protectively around the box in her pocket. “But it stays with me. I’m not entirely convinced that you wouldn’t steal it and run as soon as you got the chance.”

Charles half expects Erik to leave, offended, but instead his lips quirk up in a bemused smile. “You do recall that the map actually belongs to me. It would hardly be stealing.”

“Nevertheless, you don’t lay a finger on it until I deem you trustworthy.”

Charles figures she has a point. No matter how much Erik might have shocked him with his suddenly fine appearance, they don’t know this man any more than a stranger on the street. Some part of him hopes that Erik might take the fact that Charles essentially saved his life as a token of allegiance, but he’s not willing to stake Hamunaptra on it.

Erik opens his mouth like he’s about to reply, but Charles directs his attention away. He trusts Raven’s judgement sometimes even more than his own. Not far away from where they stand, the passenger barge is anchored and waiting for them.

Charles has never liked travelling by sea; the rocking of the ocean makes him nauseous and he’d much rather stay with his two feet planted firmly on solid ground, thank you very much. However, Charles has also spent the majority of his life in pursuit of a single object, and now that it may finally be within his grasp, he’s not about to walk away.

Shortly after Charles’s twentieth birthday, back when he was studying Egyptology at Oxford and harbouring a burning desire to drop everything and go cracking open tombs, he discovered the legend of the Book of Amun-Ra.

Charles doesn’t remember exactly when it was that he started considering the book his life’s work, but purely the idea of such a thing existing has enthralled him for years. He likes the idea of a book being considered so sacred that it would be hidden from the world. The fact that the book is made of solid gold hardly even occurs to him - though it has to Raven - he just wants to feel it in his hands, feel the weight of words so worshipped by an entire civilisation. It fascinates him beyond anything he’s ever dreamed.

For years Charles has researched the Book of Amun-Ra, coveting every scrap of information he can find and sorting truth from rumour, discarding the nonsense of curses and trying to get a lock on its location and suddenly, it might all come to fruition.

Hamunaptra. City of the Dead, of lost riches and history, and, if years of research have not led him astray, the hiding place of the book.

“Charles? He does this a lot, I apologise-- Charles!”

“Oh.” Charles turns his attention back to where Raven is looking at him exasperatedly and surmises that she’s been calling him for a while. “Yes?”

“You’re impossible. Get on the boat.”

Erik ducks his head, looking like he’s trying to hide a smile.

“Yes, she’s always this gracious,” Charles offers, flashing Erik a broad smile of his own and readjusting his grip on his case.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Erik hoists his own bag higher on his shoulder and gestures for Charles to go ahead. With one last glance at the port and all the lucky bastards who aren’t going on a three day boat ride, Charles boards.

 

 

If he thinks about it, Erik starts to wonder if he’s not just a little bit certifiable for actually trying to get back to the place he had fled so desperately. In the time since Charles Xavier cut a deal to save his life, Erik has wondered on numerous accounts whether it was entirely worth it. He’s escaped the noose only to be heading straight back to the place that saw his friends die, the place where he just barely managed to avoid death himself.

His fingers are curled tight around the rail of the barge, the moon shining brightly on the water beneath him. His legs have long since become accustomed to the rocking motion of the boat. Charles, he thinks with a small smile, has not been so lucky. Currently, the man is confined to his quarters below deck looking rather worse for wear. Raven, on the other hand, has adapted surprisingly well. Erik spares a glance over his shoulder to where she’s holding her own at a poker table with a handful of other passengers.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and Erik wanders over. “Evening.”

“Erik!” Raven beams at him and taps the empty seat next to her. “Won’t you make yourself useful and sit down so that I can take all the money from your pockets?”

“You wouldn’t be taking anything, I assure you. My pockets are just as empty as the rest of theirs,” he says, indicating to her opponents.

He earns a slight laugh, and one of the men stands up to shake his hand. “Sebastian Shaw. These are my associates, Emma Frost and Janos Quested.” He pauses for a moment and smiles a smile that makes Erik’s stomach churn. “And this is our guide, Remy LeBeau.”

Erik quickly schools his expression into indifference as he turns his eyes towards where Shaw is indicating. There, plain as day, sits Remy LeBeau. His hat is tilted down over his eyes but Erik recognises him in an instant nonetheless. Slowly, he glances up and winks at Erik before lowering his gaze again so quick Erik isn’t one hundred percent sure it even happened.

“Pleasure, I’m sure,” Erik says dryly, forcing himself to take his eyes off LeBeau.

“You say that now, but your little friend here has just been telling us all about your expedition. Looks like we’re on the same course. Just wait until we find Hamunaptra before you, then we’ll see what a pleasure it is,” Shaw laughs. Erik has to force himself to smile.

“Well, I suppose we’ll see about that.”

“What is it that makes you so cocky anyway?” Raven pipes up, and Shaw’s eyes sparkle like he’s been waiting for somebody to ask exactly that.

“Well little miss,” Shaw drawls, and Erik doesn’t miss the scowl that flitters across Raven’s face at the address, “I have one thing that you don’t.”

Raven raises her eyebrow.

“I have a man who’s seen Hamunaptra with his own eyes.” The look Shaw gives them is smug. Erik supposes he has a right to be. As far as he‘s aware, his garrison in the Legion was perhaps the only group to ever find Hamunaptra, and until right now, he’d been convinced he was the only one left alive. His eyes flicker to LeBeau and he sees the slow smirk that crawls onto his lips. Still, he says nothing, matching Erik’s gaze as if daring him to speak first.

He’s momentarily distracted however, by Raven opening her mouth to speak. Erik can practically see the cogs moving in her brain, ready to out him to everyone at the table. As subtly as he can, he kicks Raven under the table and she shuts her mouth. LeBeau’s smirk grows a little wider, and Erik makes a note to corner him later.

“How fortunate for you,” he forces out when he realises that Shaw is still waiting for an amazed reply. “I should… Check on Charles.” It’s an excuse thrown out in a moment of desire to get as far away from the poker game as he can, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Erik realises he wouldn’t mind doing just that.

“Tell him that hiding in his room isn’t going to magically put him back on dry land, will you?” Raven calls out as Erik heads away from the table and towards the cabins. He acknowledges her with a wave over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

 

 

Erik finds Charles exactly where he thought he would: holed up in his cabin, bent over the desk and poring over the map of Hamunaptra. By the looks of things, he doesn’t even hear Erik enter.

“Raven’s expressing some doubt about your ability to survive on a boat,” Erik says, moving further into the room.

Charles looks up from his map and smiles sheepishly. “She’s not entirely misled, I‘m afraid. Boats and enclosed spaces, we don’t get along too swimmingly.”

Spotting his bag in the corner of the room, Erik crosses the floor and tugs it open, withdrawing his pistols and a few sticks of dynamite. Charles watches with wide eyes as he checks the chamber of each pistol, noting that the second needs extra ammo.

“We are still going to Hamunaptra, are we not?”

Erik looks up in confusion. “… Yes?”

“May I ask what the arsenal is for, then?”

There’s a pause as Erik snaps the chamber back into place. “I was at Hamunaptra with the French Foreign Legion three years ago. Our entire garrison marched across the Sahara on the belief that the place existed, and we found it all right. We found it, and my entire garrison was killed.” Erik thinks of the poker game on the deck, Shaw and his team, and corrects himself. “Well, almost the entire garrison.”

“And you suspect the same thing will happen to us.” Charles’s face has gone a shade paler, his eyes trained firmly on the weapons in Erik’s bag.

“I believe in being prepared,” Erik says in answer.

“Well, Mister Lensherr--”

“Erik.”

“-- I believe that Hamunaptra is holding exactly what I’ve spent my entire adult life searching for, and I mean to find it, regardless of whatever curses and nonsense people believe in.”

“And what would that be?”

Charles beckons him over and Erik goes to stand by him, looking over his shoulder. From the corner of his desk, Charles pulls a large book toward them, already opened on a specific page. “The Book of Amun-Ra,” he says in almost a whisper, positioning the book so that Erik can see.

Erik recognises it and smiles. “The Book of the Living. Solid gold. I’ll admit, I didn’t pin you for the treasure hunter that your sister is.”

“No, no, no!” Charles looks almost offended. “It’s not about the _gold_ , Erik. This book is one of the most famous books in history. The Ancient Egyptians put so much store in it, it’s said they buried it somewhere in Hamunaptra, hidden away so no one would ever be able to find it.” He looks at Erik, furrowing his brows in confusion. “I’m surprised you know it.”

“Your sister isn’t the only one who knows treasure. A book of solid gold? Charles, I think you are one of the few people in the world who would covet this book for academic purposes.”

A hint of colour rises to Charles’s cheeks, but he looks pleased.

“What about _you_?” Charles counters instead. His tone softens and he furrows his brow. “Why did you agree to go back there, after what you saw?”

Erik clears his throat and checks the chamber of the same pistol again, stalling for time. Charles waits him out though, staring at him expectantly with his hands folded in his lap. “I-- I don’t know,” Erik says finally. “Closure, maybe. The not-being-hanged thing was a bonus, too.” He’s aiming for a cheap laugh, something to disturb the sudden heavy uneasiness settling on his shoulders.

Charles just keeps looking at him, a slight frown tugging at his lips. Erik shifts a little, stares at the pistol in his hands so that he doesn’t have to look at Charles, the weight of his eyes putting him on edge. Eventually, Charles relents and turns back to his book.

“It’s okay to let go once in a while, Erik,” he says softly. “Your guilt will kill you, otherwise.”

Erik stares at Charles’s back, stunned into silence. He tries to tell himself that Charles is wrong, that this is about getting away from Cairo, about the treasure, about anything that isn’t Tony and bloodied sand. It doesn’t work, and Erik flees from the cabin before Charles can get inside his head any more than he already has.

 

 

Once Charles and Raven have retired for the night, Erik tugs on his boots and goes looking for an old friend. The wind whips through his clothes harshly as he steps out onto the deck and he lowers his head against it. The poker table is still set up exactly where he left it earlier that night. Erik is not surprised to see a lone figure sitting in a shadowed corner, a deck of cards in his hands.

“What are you doing here, Remy?” Erik asks, slipping into a seat across from him.

Remy LeBeau shuffles the cards with a casual flic of his wrist, all easy confidence. He raises his eyes to meet Erik’s and shrugs his shoulders. “Same thing as you, Lensherr.”

“I thought you were dead.”

“So’d a lot of people. Lot of people _are_ dead.”

Erik feels a short stab of pain as he remembers. “Tony.”

“Good man, that Stark. Saved your neck more than once, if I remember rightly.”

Erik sighs. There’s hardly a day that he doesn’t think about Tony, but sitting here with Remy, with someone else who was there, who saw, makes it suddenly all too real. “What are you doing, Remy? Really.”

Remy shrugs again, a long pull of his shoulders, eyes still hidden beneath a tilted hat. Easily, long fingers play with the cards, one shuffle flowing gracefully into another and another. Erik remembers the old deck of cards Remy had in the Legion, the way he kept them amused with his tricks when there was nothing but desert in front of them and desert behind.

“Gotta make a livin’ somehow, right Lensherr? Gettin’ paid to drag their sorry asses to Hamunaptra seemed as good a way as any.”

“Just watch your back. And try not to get in my way.”

Finally, Remy looks up at him and smiles lazily. “Wouldn’t dream of it, cher.”

 

 

Three days and one very sea sick Charles later, Erik steps off the barge, his bag slung over his shoulder. Charles follows shortly after, setting his feet down on solid ground and beaming like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Next is Raven, in a heated debate with Shaw.

“Two hundred dollars says we get to Hamunaptra before you,” she announces proudly.

Shaw laughs, a cold bitter sound. “You’re on, little lady. You better hope this guy’s as good as he thinks he is,” he says, jabbing a finger in Erik’s direction.

Erik ignores him and Charles shoots him a look that seems to say he sympathises.

“You gamble too much, Raven,” Charles chastises, but Raven just laughs and shakes Shaw’s hand.

“And you are a stick in the mud, Charles Xavier.”

“May the best guide win,” Emma Frost declares as Remy wanders down off the barge. He meets Erik’s eyes and a small, half-smile crosses his lips. Without saying a word, he passes them, heading off the dock. It takes a second before Shaw and his associates realise that he appears to have no qualms in leaving them behind, but then Shaw’s eyes harden and he pushes past Charles roughly to follow. Instinctively, Erik puts a hand on Charles’s elbow to steady him and receives a warm smile in return.

“Thank you, my friend.”

Erik shrugs awkwardly and lets his hand drop. “We should get moving.”

“Yes, we should. I don’t intend to lose two hundred dollars, do you?” Raven grins and grabs her bag, following the rest of them.

“She doesn’t have five hundred dollars to lose,” Charles mutters, picking up his bag and following suit. “I do hope you know where you’re going,” he throws at Erik as an afterthought.

Erik watches Charles’s retreating form for a moment, wondering for the thousandth time why he got himself in this predicament. Then, Charles turns his head and smiles at him, bright blue eyes shining. “Well, Erik? Are you coming?”

Oh, yes, Erik remembers. It’s a little unnerving, he thinks, but when Charles smiles at him like that, Erik suspects he’d do almost anything.

 

 

 

“I have always wanted to ride a camel!” Raven beams and looks at the animal next to her fondly, the reigns clasped loosely in one hand.

Erik eyes his with less satisfaction, but he nods, and Charles hands the trader a wad of cash.

“Horses would have been preferable.”

The trader shakes his head and hands Erik the reigns for two more camels before turning on his heel and leaving them.

“Apologies, Lensherr. It appears we acquired the last of the horses.”

Already, Erik is beginning to think that there are few sounds worse than Shaw’s voice.

“I imagine camels should be better company through the desert,” Charles replies pleasantly before Erik even gets a chance to open his mouth, and Shaw scowls darkly at him.

“Two days ride,” Remy drawls and Erik notices that he too, sits sturdy on the back of a camel.

“See you on the other side,” Erik says. Remy tips his hat in response and rides on, once again leaving his companions to hurry after him.

 

 

There’s a cool breeze blowing on Charles’s neck, a welcome change from two days of sweltering heat. They’ve been riding straight through the night for hours and Charles thinks it must be getting close to dawn. Despite the absence of the sun, Charles can still feel the cotton of his shirt sticking against his skin, strands of hair stuck to the nape of his neck. Compared to the midday heat, the night is a blessing, but it’s still far hotter than Charles would like.

Erik, on the other hand, looks perfectly comfortable. Charles can’t help but stare a little at the way Erik’s body rocks with the camel’s steady movements. For the first time since Charles met him, Erik looks almost relaxed, sitting on the back of his camel with an easy sort of grace, his hair swept back. He turns his head, meeting Charles’s gaze and Charles averts his eyes quickly, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

To his left, Raven is watching him. The smile she sends him is knowing, a teasing lilt of her lips that makes Charles kind of wish he didn’t have a sister. Then, there’s a sudden crunch that jolts Charles, and he looks down in horror to see a human skeleton buried in the sand.

“Lot of people go looking for Hamunaptra,” Erik begins by way of explanation, “lot of people are unsuccessful. We’re close.”

Charles swallows hard and starts to wonder if going to Hamunaptra was such a great idea.

Eventually, the sun begins to peak on the horizon. Just in front of him, Erik holds up a hand to signal them to stop. “It’s here,” he says, and Charles blinks in confusion. Ahead of them stretches only more sand, straight on to the horizon. There’s nothing.

“Erik-?” Before he gets to question anything, Charles is cut off.

“Keep on runnin’ into each other, don’t we, Lensherr?”

“Just keep your eye on that horizon, Remy, and then we’ll see who gets to the city first.”

Charles looks from one man to the other, feeling not for the first time like there’s something here he doesn’t understand. For one, the horizon is still empty to him, stretching across the sand dunes for miles. Aside from that though is something else. Something in the set of Erik’s eyes and the curl of LeBeau’s lips says there’s history there, their lives intertwining under circumstances that Charles can never understand.

“What are we waiting for?” Raven leans across to whisper into Charles’s ear. He shrugs back, his eyes fixed firmly on Erik. The man is sitting stock still, his eyes trained in one place, clearly waiting. For what, Charles has no idea, but he gets the feeling he shouldn’t interrupt.

“You boys taking us to Hamunaptra or what?” Shaw asks loudly, but neither Erik nor Remy reply.

“Not long now,” Remy murmurs as the sun crawls out of the sand and towards the sky.

Charles finds himself sitting forward in anticipation, the sudden quiet hush of their group eerie in a way that suggests something big is about to happen.

“Here we go again,” Erik mutters as the sun rises in earnest, giving light to the most amazing thing Charles has ever seen. Nestled in the dunes on the far horizon, Hamunaptra is suddenly visible where before there appeared to be nothing, the ancient ruin of a city that Charles has spent years searching for.

“It’s incredible,” Raven whispers, and Charles turns to beam at her.

“It’s ours,” Emma Frost speaks up determinedly, and it’s like the spell is broken. Immediately, their entire company kicks into gear, charging towards the city like it’s the last thing in the world.

All thoughts of the heat and the fact that he hasn’t slept properly in two days are gone from Charles’s mind as he spurs his camel onwards. The wind rustles through his clothes, tousles his hair and breathes fresh life into him as he races. He sees Erik coming up fast behind him and he laughs, pushing his camel faster. The City of the Dead is in front of him, the wind is in his hair and Charles doesn’t think he’s ever felt so alive in his life.

Before he even realises it, Charles is in front of the others, Erik coming up quickly on his side. Quickly, Charles turns his head to grin at Erik. With the sun behind him, Erik looks almost ethereal. Charles finds his breath caught in his throat and he can’t look away.

“Charles!” Erik shouts in warning, pointing ahead, and Charles snaps back to attention just in time to see that they’re already coming up on the city and he’s about to miss the stone ramp and plummet off a sand dune. Quickly, he tugs on the reigns and sends his mount back in the right direction, just in time to see Erik’s lips quirk into an amused smile.

Sheepishly, Charles pulls his camel to a halt once he’s up the ramp and dismounts, hearing Erik drop to the ground behind him. And then it hits him, a gradually building kind of wonder at the knowledge that he’s here, finally. The City of the Dead. Hamunaptra.

“Guess you owe us two hundred dollars,” he hears Raven’s voice say, and turns around to see her dismounted and grinning broadly at a red-faced Shaw.

 

 

In the end, their arrival at Hamunaptra is kind of anti-climactic, Erik thinks. His last visit had ended in a fight for his life, but this time, they’re alone but for Shaw and his team. Erik glances over to where Shaw is ordering Janos and Remy to dig their way into the temple, the entrance of which is currently blocked by a pile of rock - the remnants of a fallen statue, from what Erik can tell.

Bemused, Erik watches as Remy laughs and walks away, leaving Janos alone to do the heavy-lifting.

“It’s breath-taking, isn’t it?”

Charles sits beside Erik on another broken statue, running his fingertips over the smooth stone. There’s already a dark smudge of dust across Charles’s cheekbone, his hair a tousled mess after their race across the desert and a smile on his lips that makes Erik’s chest ache.

“Yeah. It is,” Erik answers. He’s not entirely sure that he’s still talking about the ruins, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice.

“The book is said to be buried under a statue of Horus, right there in that Temple. Surreal, being this close to it after so many years.”

“We’re not inside yet. You’ll have to wait a little longer, unfortunately.”

“Uh, Charles? Lensherr?” Erik and Charles turn simultaneously to where Raven is standing, beckoning them over and looking like the cat that got the canary. “You’ll want to follow me.”

Charles gets up immediately, dusting sand off his pants. Curious, Erik follows. “Where are we going?” he asks, but Raven doesn’t say a word, walking casually in front of them. She leads them around the Temple, past where Janos is still trying to unblock the entry and past Remy, stretched out on his back against the sand, arms folded behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Careful, cher,” he says as they pass without opening his eyes. “Lots’a whispers about Hamunaptra, lots’a rumours. They ain’t all lies, y’hear?”

Raven bites her lip and her cheeks pale enough to tell Erik that she’s heard enough of the stories herself. Erik aims a kick at Remy’s boot. “You’re full of shit, LeBeau.”

Remy just laughs, which doesn’t seem to put Raven at ease. “Ignore him,” Erik tells her firmly. “He always liked making shit up to scare the new recruits. Where were you taking us?"

With one last look at Remy, Raven tugs on Charles's sleeve and leads them further around the temple. "I found it earlier, while everyone else was distracted. Look," she says, pointing to the side of temple. Erik grins when he sees it and by the look on Charles's face, he's seen it too.

"Raven, you're a genius," Charles breathes, stepping closer to the temple. Caused by natural erosion or a man-made effort Erik doesn't know, but there, hidden by the shadows of the temple is a small crevice. "It goes all the way inside, look!" Charles steps back to let Raven and Erik through. He's right, Erik can see once he gets a better look. Through the dark gap in the stone he can see into the room below, see the faint edges of what looks like a sarcophagus.

While Charles continues to peer into the darkness, straining his eyes and forcing them to see, Erik walks as inconspicuously as he can back to his and Charles's bags. In his own he finds what he's looking for: a long stretch of coiled rope. He grins, hiking his own bag and Charles's on to his back as he heads back to their hidden place behind the temple.

"Better you than them," Remy says as he passes. Erik tosses him Raven's pack of card in thanks.

"Here," Erik says when he reaches the others. As quickly as he can, Erik ties one end of the rope around a large dislodged stone and tugs on it experimentally. "It'll hold. Raven, you go first."

She nods, grabbing the other end of the rope and throwing it down into the crevice. The bottom doesn't look far below them, but she moves cautiously anyway, gripping the rope tight as she squeezes through the gap and lowers herself down. A short moment later, she calls out. "Okay, Charles!"

After a quick glance over his shoulder and a nod from Erik, Charles grips the rope and starts to lower himself down after his sister. Erik hears the moment Charles's feet touch the ground, hears Raven's excited whispering. "Better us than them," Erik echoes, and unties the rope from the rock before slipping down after them. His feet hit the ground hard without the rope supporting him, but the drop isn't far, as he'd expected.

"I can't see anything," Raven complains.

She's right. The air is stale and full of dust, the room so dark Erik can only just make out the shape of Charles in front of him. "Wait," Charles says, and shuffles forward until Erik can't see him anymore. Immediately, Erik feels his throat tighten at the idea of what could be hidden down here, of what Charles could be walking in to, but then suddenly there's light.

"How did you do that?"

Charles grins, pointing at the large metal disk in his hands. "They reflect the light off each other. It's an old trick."

Erik looks around and understands. Zig-zagging down the room are various other metal disks, each the same as the one Charles is holding. "I knew your ridiculous desire for study would pay off some time," Raven teases, nudging Charles's shoulder playfully. "Now, I don't suppose we'll find much treasure in a preparation room." Raven grins and starts down the corridor to the next room. Erik stares at Charles in confusion.

"What exactly did they prepare for down here?"

There's a twinkle in Charles's eyes when he turns to answer, a spark that Erik hasn't seen before. And there's that smile again, adding more light to his eyes. "Mummies, Erik. This is where they prepared for the afterlife."

Charles looks as though the thought is positively exciting, but Erik feels his own hand go for the pistol at his hip. "Already dead people, Erik," Charles assures him, but Erik's hand stays firmly on his weapon.

"Charles, come quick!"

Charles stares at Erik a moment longer, a curious sort of smile on his face, and then he's turning on his heel and disappearing down the passageway in the direction of Raven's voice. Erik follows once more, wondering when chasing treasure-hungry siblings through abandoned Ancient Egyptian temples became his life.

The room they find themselves in is larger than the first, but without the handy light-mirrors the first held. Charles is already on it though, spotting rows of torches along the walls and rummaging in his pack until he comes up with a lighter. He makes short work of it and then the room is filled with light and heat, a welcome change.

"Oh my god," Charles whispers. It's kind of endearing, Erik thinks, how much excitement is in Charles's eyes. "It's the statue of Horus. Raven, oh my god."

For a moment, Erik doesn’t understand, and then he remembers his conversation with Charles above ground.

"Breathe for a moment, Charles. What if it's not there? Just don't get your hopes too high,” Raven says gently.

Charles isn't looking at either of them. His eyes are fixed firmly on the statue, his mouth still opened slightly in awe.

"The Book of Amun-Ra.” Charles is shaking his head slowly, swallowing hard and moving cautiously towards the statue. "My entire life..." He reaches out a hand, touching the cool stone of the statue reverently, and that's when they hear the scream.

Raven jumps practically a foot in the air and Charles jolts, snatching his fingers away from the statue as if that's what caused it.

"Emma Frost," Erik says, grabbing a torch from the wall. Apparently, however, Erik has the worst luck in the world, because the moment he pulls the torch roughly free, the effort dislodges a stone and the ceiling comes crashing down. With reflexes as quick as he can muster, Erik reaches out and clenches his fingers in the back of Charles's shirt, hauling him backwards just in time to see a tonne of rock landing with a crash, right where Charles had been standing.

 

 

There’s a brief moment where the three of them can’t do anything but stare at the piles of rock in front of them, stunned.

“Erik, I--” Charles starts and then swallows. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Emma,” Raven reminds them.

Erik nods and picks up the torch he’d dropped on the ground in panic. Considering the trouble obtaining it caused, he’s not leaving it behind now. “Come on,” he says, and then he’s running.

 

 

They find Shaw and his team in a large room not far from their own. Erik doesn't entirely know what he was expecting - ancient booby traps or mummies come alive or something - but this isn't it. Shaw and Janos are grinning, their arms filled with gold. Behind them, a sarcophagus has been cracked open.

Emma is standing in the middle of the room, inspecting her nails.

"We heard you scream," Charles says, staring from Emma to Shaw and back again, confusion clouding his eyes. "What happened?"

Emma looks at Charles, a faint smile appearing on her lips. "I thought I saw something," she says.

Erik drops his pistol back into his holster and rolls his eyes. Stupid, he thinks. A couple of hours in this place and he's already wishing he were anywhere but here.

"This is our dig, get your own," Shaw snaps when he spots the way Raven is staring at the gold in his hands.

Charles shrugs and points through another exit, opposite the one they came through. "We can't get out the way we came in, obviously. I think that leads back to the camp, right?" He directs this last at Emma and she nods, just the barest inclination of her head.

"Right." Erik throws one last filthy look at where Shaw is peering back into the sarcophagus, apparently ready to take everything but the mummy itself. "Let's go. It’s getting late, and we’re going to need tools and better light to crack open that statue," he mutters and turns around to leave, but not before he sees Raven slip two fingers into Shaw's back pocket, retrieving them just as quickly.

"The book's waited for me this long. I suppose it can wait a little longer." Charles's tone is desolate, but he smiles regardless and leads the way out.

Erik waits until Raven has caught up to his side before he follows, shooting her a questioning glance. She grins, holding out her hand and showing him a small gold statue as they round the corner and head out of sight. "Couldn't help myself, the guy's a bastard." She stuffs it into her own pocket and Erik laughs.

 

 

Later, Erik curls his toes in the sand, a fire crackling in front of him. As many terrible memories he has of Hamunaptra, he's always loved the quiet of the desert and the feel of the sand beneath his feet. Now, sitting outside the temple in their makeshift camp, he feels at peace for the first time since their ride across the sand.

The moment is made better only when Charles wanders over to sit beside him, kicking off his own boots. "Interesting first day, wouldn't you say?"

"We'll get your book, Charles. We won't leave without it."

Charles smiles and nudges Erik's shoulder with his own. "I appreciate it, Erik. Really."

"Well here's a couple of troublemakers if I ever saw them," Raven announces, dropping herself to the ground beside Charles. "What's up?"

A quick look around tells Erik that no one is looking, so he reaches out to haul his pack towards him. "I bring gifts," he says, reaching a hand inside and coming up with two bottles of whiskey. "Shaw won't miss them." He passes one to Raven and takes a long swig of the other before handing it to Charles.

"You stole these?" Charles asks, his eyes narrowing, but he takes a drink all the same.

"Like Raven said, couldn't help myself."

"I'll drink to that," Raven announces, bringing the bottle to her lips and upending it.

Erik smiles and digs his hand back into the bag. "One more thing." Now, he pulls out a roll of leather containing a good portion of Shaw's archaeology equipment and gives it to Charles. "It's not your book, but I uh. I thought you might like it."

Charles takes the roll curiously, unfolding it and grinning from ear to ear. "It's excellent, Erik, thank you. How did you get--" he pauses and Erik shifts uncomfortably. To his relief, Charles just smiles and doesn't push it, rolling the kit back up and hugging it to his chest. "Thank you, Erik."

Shaw will notice his things missing in the morning, and Erik will undoubtedly have to tolerate an interrogation, but for now it's worth it, just to see Charles smile like that again.

"Ugh," Raven mutters, standing up and clutching her bottle to her. "Well, I'm off to find somebody more interesting before you two start on with this."

Charles furrows his eyebrows in confusion as she leaves, but she's gone before he can question it. Erik takes another long drink of whiskey and pointedly doesn't look at either of them. Apparently, Raven is more observant than Erik has been giving her credit for.

“Well,” Charles announces, deftly stealing the whiskey bottle back from Erik, “we might as well make use of this before Shaw kills us both.”

Erik grins and watches the column of Charles’s throat as he drinks, tilting his head back. When Charles meets his eyes again, he’s smiling and holding out the bottle for Erik to take. Unconsciously, Charles licks his lips and Erik decides that tonight is probably going to kill him.

 

 

The fire has crackled down to nothing but embers and the night air is cool on Erik’s skin. To his left, Raven is sound asleep, curled up on her side with her back to Erik and the fire.

“Never could hold her drink, that one,” Charles says when he sees Erik looking at his sister. Charles’s own words are slurred, his feet swaying a little where he stands, bottle held loosely between the fingers of his right hand.

“That so?”

Quickly, Charles’s knees give out and he falls towards the sand. Erik lunges forward, succeeding in saving the bottle with his left hand and Charles with his right, easing him gently to the ground with a hand on Charles’s hip. If he lets it linger, Charles doesn’t notice.

“Tomorrow, Erik, I will find my book.” Charles looks determined, a glint to his eye that is undermined immediately by the drunken laugh he lets out as soon as he says the words. “If no more ceilings fall on me.”

Carefully, Erik plucks the whiskey bottle from Charles’s hand and sets it aside. If he’s learned anything, it is that Charles is somewhat of a bottle hog, and he finds himself far more sober than the man sitting next to him. The fact that Charles doesn’t protest or apparently even notice that his drink has gone missing says enough.

“Why are you here, Charles?” Erik asks. It’s something that’s been plaguing him ever since he met Charles in prison, that one thing he just can’t get his head around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The indignant tone is once again ruined by the way Charles speaks, each word sliding into the next as his mouth hurries to catch up to his brain.

“Your sister, Raven? Her, I get. Even Shaw and Emma and the other one who doesn’t speak - them, I get. Treasure and fame and adventure and all that. I even get Remy.” Erik shrugs. “You, I don’t get.”

For a second Charles looks confused and then his eyes narrow. “I’ll have you know, Mr Lensherr, that I am here for a better reason than all of them combined!” He jabs an outraged finger at Erik's chest. "Academic pursuit, Erik. Thirst for knowledge. The Book of Amun-Ra, and _not_ because it is set in gold but because it is the embodiment of history, Erik. I may not be my sister with her treasure-hunting and adventuring and I am certainly not Shaw and his ruthless search for gold, but I am what I am, and I am proud of that."

Erik raises an eyebrow, flashing a bemused smile. Charles looks beyond indignant, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. Erik wants to see him like this every minute of the day. "And what are you, Charles?"

There's a pause before Charles opens his mouth, shuffling closer to Erik so that he can meet his eyes determinedly. "I-- I am a librarian! And a bloody good one too."

It's probably bad form, but Erik can't help but laugh. "Your quest is very noble, Charles. I commend you."

"Erik--" Before he can blink, Charles is all up in Erik's personal space, his breath suddenly coming short and fast. "I know how you look at me, Erik. How you're looking at me now."

Erik swallows hard, tries to think of anything but the fact that Charles is practically in his lap with the way he keeps leaning forward, the way his eyes are blown huge and blue, the way he runs his tongue over his lips before he speaks. It's impossible, not when Charles is right there and Erik can't look away.

"I think I'm going to kiss you," Charles murmurs, and Erik takes things into his own hands, reaching out to clench a hand in Charles's shirt and pull him in before he can change his mind. Their lips meet in a rush, fast and hard. Erik is too desperate and Charles is too drunk and it's not perfect or neat but Erik pulls him closer all the same. He can hear Charles make a tiny sound as he shifts them, tugging Charles into his lap and pulling away just enough that he can start again, properly this time. He kisses Charles like he's wanted to since he saw him through cell bars, sliding a hand through his hair. Purposely, he doesn't think about how much Charles has been drinking, how in all probability, he'll either not remember or regret it in the morning. None of that matters, nothing but the feel of Charles's lips, the way his hands slip under Erik's shirt and wander up his back, scorching his skin.

"You mind?" a voice mutters in annoyance. Erik retreats quickly, looking over to where Raven is craning her neck around to glare at them.

"Ah, apologies," Charles stammers out as he pulls back, his missing hands leaving Erik wanting.

With a few more mumbled curses, Raven turns around and goes back to sleep. Charles bites his lip and looks at Erik sheepishly. "We should--" he starts, and Erik nods before he even finishes his sentence.

"Yeah, um, dig tomorrow. Beauty rest, all that."

"Right."

Charles is already moving away, tugging a small blanket out of his pack and making himself comfortable on the sand. Erik stares at him a moment, wanting nothing more than to go over there and slip his arms around Charles until he falls asleep. Instead, he retrieves his own blanket and pulls it over himself. Charles seems to fall asleep almost immediately, and Erik watches him until the embers die out and he falls asleep himself.

 

 

Morning finds Erik alone at their makeshift campsite. He throws his blanket off impatiently, sitting bolt upright and looking around for any sign of Charles and Raven. Their entire camp is empty, even Shaw and his team have gone. Erik tugs on his boots as quick as he can, grabbing his bag and heading for the dig site.

"Sleeping Beauty decided to join us!" Shaw's drawl reaches his ears and Erik groans.

"Where's Charles? Raven?"

"Gone on ahead, Lensherr. After that book your Charles is so adamant on finding."

Erik doesn't wait for him to say anything else. He's already heading further into the ruins in search.

It's not until Erik's been walking for somewhere close to twenty minutes that he realises he's taken a wrong turn somewhere. It didn't take them nearly this long to find the exit from their dig site yesterday. He'd been expecting to find Charles and Raven attempting to get through the wall of rock that collapsed and blocked them off the day before. A quick examination of the crevice they'd used as an entry point last night had found it blocked off as well, piles of stone forbidding them from entering the easier way.

"Raven, if you could just shift that rock there-- yes, that's it--"

Erik stops in his tracks, recognising Charles's voice and trying to place it. He rounds the corner quickly, his eyes straining for any sight of them, and that's when he sees the hole in the floor. It covers almost the entire length of the room Erik's found himself in, apparently having fallen through to the room below.

"Charles?" Erik calls out, lowering himself to his knees and peering down through the gap in the floor. Below, there's rubble covering everything, but he can see part of the statue of Horus, still intact.

"Erik?"

"I think I'm above you!" Erik calls out. "Where the ceiling collapsed yesterday!"

"How far is it? Could you jump down and help move the rock from the other side?" Raven yells up.

"I think I--" Erik pauses, his voice dying in his throat when he spots something nestled in a pile of rubble beside him. It's a stick of dynamite, the fuse burned off like a faulty stick that didn't explode. He stares at it, trying to pull the pieces together in his head. Shaw, he thinks, the name immediately springing to mind. As soon as he thinks it, he knows it has to be true. It's the only thing that makes sense, Erik thinks. The way Shaw had seemingly made no effort to go after Horus and the book himself, the convenient way the ceiling collapsed almost on top of Charles as soon as he discovered the book's location. They'd written it off as an old building falling apart, an accident. Erik carefully picks up the stick of dynamite and knows it was anything but.

"Charles? I'm coming to find you, wait there."

 

 

"You don't know that it was him, Erik."

Hours later, Erik herds Charles and Raven back to their camp, as far away from Shaw's ears as he can manage. His team are still digging inside the temple and with any luck, they'll be there for some time yet.

"Who else could it have been, Charles? It's _dynamite_ , that roof didn't collapse by accident."

Raven sighs and puts a hand on her brother's shoulder. "I know you want to believe the best of everyone, but sometimes it really is what it looks like."

"But to think that someone would _do_ that--"

"He doesn't seem like the moral type, Charles," Raven reasons. "I wouldn't put it past him."

"The fact is, we don't know him, and we don't know what he's capable of." Erik holds up the dynamite as proof. "He could have killed you. He could have killed all of us."

"Yes, but--"

"Not buts. This is enough," Erik snaps, and goes to find Shaw.

 

 

Finding Shaw is easy enough; in fact Erik almost collides with him as he comes out of the temple. "You tried to kill us," Erik accuses, struggling to keep his voice steady and not kill Shaw where he stands.

With a curious glance in their direction, Emma slips past, moving quickly towards the camps.

"Erik, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"The roof! I found the dynamite Shaw, you blew it up and tried to trap us under it so you could get the book first."

Shaw laughs and Erik feels it in his bones. "Why would I want Xavier's book?"

Erik clenches his jaw. "Yes, the fact that it's solid gold is completely irrelevant, right?"

"I didn't take any book, Erik. I certainly didn't blow up an ancient temple in an attempted murder." He fixes Erik with stony eyes and his lip quirks up in a sneer. "And if I did, you couldn't prove it."

With that, he pushes past, knocking Erik's shoulder painfully. Erik watches him go, clenching his hands into fists until it hurts. From across the camp, he meets Emma's eyes. She smiles, slow and teasing, and Erik sees a glint of gold as she shoves something into her bag.

 

 

Charles would be lying if he said that Erik's theory didn't worry him. In reality, he has a hard time believing that a stick of dynamite would coincidentally appear at the same time as a roof almost collapsed on top of him, but Charles never liked condemning people. Erik called him naive and maybe that's true, but Charles looks across the camp to where Shaw is sitting and talking closely with Emma, and he can't bring himself to believe that someone who is almost a complete stranger would have attempted to end his life.

"They have the book, Charles, I know it. They sabotaged our dig so that they could get in there themselves while we were distracted. I saw her with it, I swear."

For the last ten minutes, Charles has been listening while Erik argued, adamant that he saw Emma Frost with the Book of Amun-Ra. However, Charles thinks, if they really did have the book, they'd be long gone by now, surely.

"It could have been anything, Erik. Maybe they dug up some treasure."

Charles can see the way Erik is gritting his teeth, his jaw clenched. He can't understand why the book suddenly has Erik so worked up - it had been Charles's dream to find it, not Erik's. If anything, Erik is only here because Charles dragged him from prison.

Now, Erik is staring at him, his chest rising rapidly with the way he’s breathing, his hands curled into fists at his side. Charles thinks of the night before, of the way those hands had gripped him tight as Erik kissed him senseless, and he wonders if Erik regrets it happening. They haven’t spoken a word of it since; there had hardly been time between Erik’s ranting and damning of Shaw. Before Erik had woken up, found the dynamite and the whole ordeal had begun, Raven spent the morning interrogating him for details despite her annoyance at the time.

Really, Charles doesn’t know what to think. Kissing Erik had been an impulse, his inhibitions drunkenly forgotten. It had been pure need, pure want, the desire to touch Erik’s skin building and building all night until Charles was sure he needed it just as much as he needed to breathe.

He can remember the feel of Erik’s strong hands, of fingers raking through his hair and he wants it all over again. But Erik is still so angry, his eyes hard and his lips pulled into a thin line. Now is hardly the time to bring up any unresolved tension, Charles decides.

“That book is all you’ve ever wanted, and he deliberately stopped you from getting it, and now you want to just let him walk away?”

“Calm down, Lensherr. This isn’t solving anything,” Raven says firmly. Erik doesn’t look like he’s calming down any time soon, but he falls quiet all the same.

Charles sighs. “It’s not all I’ve ever wanted,” he says quietly, because how could it be when Erik Lensherr is standing in front of him, electric and compelling and making Charles want to throw him down on the sand and have his way in front of everyone. “It’s not. Not anymore.”

Turning away, Charles heads back to the camp and leaves Erik and Raven staring after him. For now, he needs a moment alone, away from Erik and eyes that drill into his soul.

 

 

Once he’s alone, Charles drags his pack towards him, tugging it open and rummaging inside for his research notes and books. They’ve always been a way of calming him, letting himself sink into the words and the history of Egypt, separating myth from fact until everything makes a little more sense.

However, his hands come up empty. Frustrated, Charles upends his pack and lets the contents spill onto the sand, sorting through pens and writing pads and a compass and the tools Erik had given him. One of his books is present, but the one he wanted is gone. Frowning, Charles tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and tries to remember what he did with them. Eventually, his eyes light up and he recalls Erik offering to carry them during their ride through the desert, splitting the load of all Charles’s books into their two bags to ease the weight.

He contemplates for all of a minute before he decides that it’s not like Erik will mind, and pulls Erik’s pack over as well. It’s heavier than he expected, and he starts pulling things out to get to the bottom. Either Erik has been holding out on them or rationing their supplies, because he finds another bottle of whiskey stashed away. Taking it out gives him better access, and finally he can see his book nestled among a change of clothes. Charles grins and reaches for it, and then he sees a corner of bright gold.

Frowning, Charles reaches back in and tugs his own book out, his heart leaping into his throat at what it uncovers. Buried in Erik’s bag, deep under folds of clothes and his other possessions, is the Book of Amun-Ra.

 

 

“Shaw, huh?” Charles holds up the book, furious. Erik stares at him blankly for a moment until slow realisation crawls across his face and he shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.”

“You had the book in your bag, Erik.”

“No, I didn’t. Charles, I didn’t take it.”

Charles breathes through his nose and tries to calm himself down. It’s unlike him to fly off the handle, but he can’t help the way his throat seizes up, the way his stomach churns sickeningly. If there’s one thing Charles has always despised, it’s lying.

“You said the money didn’t matter to you,” Charles says, biting the words out. He keeps his eyes firmly on Erik even though it hurts, hurts to watch the way Erik denies everything, the way he still looks so fucking perfect that Charles half wants to punch him. It’s not fair after everything, after kissing Erik, after thinking that maybe he could gain something more from this expedition. He knows the anger is a front to keep out something more painful, but he doesn’t care.

“It doesn’t, Charles, I swear to you I didn’t know it was there.” Erik stands up and he settles his hands on each of Charles’s shoulders, holding him tight. “Emma put it there, she must have. Charles, I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t.”

Charles shoves him hard, pushing the book at Erik’s chest. “There’s no point in lying to me further, Erik.”

Erik stares at him and suddenly his eyes go cold. “Fine, Charles. Believe what you will.”

The look in Erik’s eyes goes straight to Charles’s stomach, twisting and knotting. He’d been stupid, he tells himself, getting mixed up with a renegade prisoner. Really, he should have known that telling a complete stranger his secrets, his deepest wishes, would end badly. The book is worth more money than Charles can even comprehend; expecting Erik to stand aside and let Charles have it was a ridiculous notion.

He grants himself one last look at Erik, one last moment to berate himself for feeling anything but mistrust for a thrill-seeking convict, and then he keeps walking and doesn’t look back.

 

 

There’s dirt caked deep under his fingernails and smudges of red dust across his cheeks, but Charles doesn’t care. He keeps at it, shifting rock and clawing through rubble with his bare hands. The tools that Erik had given him have been thrown to the other end of the room, abandoned in the sand in a fit of anger.

If he’s being honest, Charles has no idea what he’s digging _for_. The book has already been found, dragged up from the dirt and stashed away in Erik’s bag. For Charles, there’s nothing left of value here, nothing that could make up for the object of his life’s work. Still, the digging is a distraction, a way of venting his anger into strength, working out his frustration on hard stone. It’s easier than looking at Erik.

Eventually, his fingernails are chipped and broken and spotted with blood in some places, but he’s managed to create a hole in the wall of rubble. Peering through, he can see the statue of Horus, a gaping hole in the stone at its feet where someone - _Erik_ , Charles thinks bitterly - has beaten him to his prize. Still, he slides his hand in and, with a surge of effort, pushes another large stone out of the way until the hole is big enough to clamber through. Charles gives one last look across the room at the tools Erik gave him and then, stubbornly, crawls through without them.

Once inside and with room to stand, Charles brushes dirt off his knees and wanders, inspecting the room properly now that he’s not so preoccupied by the book. Before, he had seen the statue of Horus and found everything else irrelevant; now, he sees carvings on the walls, beautiful hieroglyphs covering the surface of the stones. Charles traces them with his fingers, immediately feeling his anger start to dissipate. It’s hard to be driven by anger when he’s so surrounded by history, so overwhelmed with evidence of a lost time.

If anything, Charles thinks, _this_ is what he came here for. The book was the objective, yes, but just being here is a wonder in and of itself, Charles thinks. Even with the discovery of the Book of Amun-Ra tainted, there’s still this, this lost city hidden from the world, finally open to Charles’s eyes after years of searching. Nothing can ruin this, Charles decides.

And then Erik is climbing through the hole in the wall.

“I thought you might be in here,” Erik says, his eyes downcast and voice resigned. Charles refuses to let himself feel guilty for shouting.

“What do you want?”

“To talk to you, Charles. Unless you’d rather I leave.”

Charles hesitates. It would be easier for Erik to leave, for him to turn around and walk away and maybe lessen the tugging ache in the pit of Charles’s stomach. He’s still angry and he wants so much for Erik to leave him be, but he also wants Erik to stay, wants to touch him and hear him say Charles has it wrong. Charles doesn’t know what he wants, but Erik has his own ideas.

“No, you know what? I’m not leaving. You are going to hear me out, Charles Xavier, and then you are going to take back your book and stop looking so bloody miserable.”

Charles opens his mouth to retort, but he never gets a chance.

“I didn’t take it, Charles, and you can believe that or not, but it’s true. I saw Emma Frost with it and you should know by now what a bastard Shaw is. I can almost guarantee that they’re going to use this distraction as a way of stealing it back, so for once you’re lucky that your sister would rather die than let something so valuable be stolen from her.”

Erik’s hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his eyes hard and determined. Charles can’t help but drink him in hungrily, guiltily enjoying the way Erik’s chest rises and falls rapidly, sharp collarbones prominent where his shirt is unbuttoned a little.

Eventually though, he finds his voice. “You gave the book to Raven?”

Erik looks dumbfounded for a split second, and then he nods. “Of course. I couldn’t find you, and I certainly wasn’t handing it to Shaw.”

“How can I trust you?”

For a moment, Erik’s eyes blaze hot, angry and frustrated and if Charles isn’t mistaken, a little hurt. Immediately, he wants to take back what he said, but Erik is already moving towards him, closing the gap between them in three long, heavy strides.

“Because I’m telling the truth!” Frustrated, Erik’s fist lashes out and strikes the stone behind them hard. Charles’s first thought is that Erik’s probably broken several bones. His second thought takes note of the way Erik is all up in his personal space, breathing hard and staring at him intently with his arm cornering Charles against the wall. If he moved just a little, their chests would be touching. It would be easy, Charles thinks, to pull him down into a kiss and make Erik stop shouting. It would be easy, but Charles is stubborn.

“I found you minutes away from the noose on the floor of a Cairo prison,” Charles bites out. “Your word means nothing to me.”

Erik stares at him, shock rendering him silent, and Charles takes the opportunity to slip away from him.

On his way out, Charles spots his tools, scattered across the sand. To hell with Erik bloody Lensherr, he thinks, and leaves them there.

 

 

Fuming, Erik stays in the tomb probably longer than necessary. The sound of Charles’s footsteps storming away from him keeps ringing and echoing in his ears, even though he knows it’s been at least twenty minutes since Charles left. He’s sick of this place, he decides. Hamunaptra has brought him nothing but pain and anger since he knew of its existence. As far as he’s concerned, Charles Xavier can find his own way home. He’s spent more than enough time dealing with overly excitable treasure hunters and stubborn goddamn _librarians_.

The first thing he sees when he exits the tomb into too-bright daylight is LeBeau. He’s already preparing himself for some kind of teasing comment - an easy pass at Erik’s complete inability to do anything right - when Remy frowns at him, rare concern flashing across his eyes.

“You best get movin’, Lensherr. I tried to stop him, but Shaw does what Shaw wants.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean leavin’ that book practically unprotected was probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, cher.”

Immediately, Erik looks behind LeBeau to their camp, searching for Raven. He had left her simple instructions, (“Do not let go of this book, no matter what. I don’t care if you’re life depends on it, Raven, you keep it”) but he can’t see her anywhere. Instead, there’s Charles, panic written across his face.

“What the hell is going on?”

All at once Charles seems to realise that Erik has joined them. He looks up and Erik can see that his eyes are blown huge and blue, fear and worry etched into every line of his face.

“He’s got her,” Charles says, and Erik can hear the way his voice threatens to crack. “Shaw took Raven.”

 

 

“You know, I thought my brother was bad with his weird obsession with that book, but you leave him _way_ behind, mister.”

Shaw nods, his lips turning up in a pleased smile. “That, my dear, is because your brother has no idea what it is he even found. Or how to use it.”

When Raven had first spotted something interesting sticking out of a conveniently drunk man’s pocket, the last thing she expected was that it would lead to her eventual kidnapping. She almost wishes she could blame Erik, but almost immediately she can see Charles’s face in her head, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Instead, she directs her annoyance to Shaw. He has the book held tightly with one hand, pistol in the other. Alongside him are Emma Frost and Janos Quested. Suddenly, Raven is immensely happy that she took them for all they had at poker, though at this rate they’re just as likely to raid her pockets and steal back her winnings.

The rope around her wrists is too tight and beginning to chafe, but any movement of her hands just seems to aggravate the pain further, so she does her best to ignore it.

“Charles spent his whole life looking for that thing. If it does something, I’m sure he knows about it,” she reasons, for no reason other than the fact that she’s pretty sure if she stops talking, she’ll start really worrying at the predicament she’s found herself in.

“Well then he’s either incredibly stupid for being so careless with it, or he _doesn’t_ know, in which case he’s still incredibly stupid,” Shaw retorts, and Raven grits her teeth.

“I’d bet he didn’t know about the key, either,” Emma laughs, her long fingers playing with the grooves of Raven’s puzzle box.

“Hush now, Emma,” Shaw instructs, coming to a stop. Raven follows suit, taking in her surroundings now that Shaw has finally stopped leading them deeper and deeper into the city, through so many turns and passages that Raven’s not sure she’ll ever find the way out again. They’ve arrived in what looks like a small courtyard, decrepit buildings looming darkly on all sides. In the middle is a large stone dais, completely devoid of any decoration.

“We wait until nightfall,” Shaw announces. Raven declines to ask why, or what he’s waiting for.

 

 

At first, Erik’s too busy checking his pistol and pulling on sturdier boots to realise that Remy is doing the same. Eventually though, he looks up to see LeBeau staring at him pointedly.

“We haven’t got all day, Lensherr.”

Erik doesn’t ask questions. The look on Charles’s face is enough to spur him into action. Quickly, Erik shoves a spare pistol into his waistband before abandoning the rest of their belongings in favour of quicker movement. The camp, Erik reasons, will still be here when they return. Raven, well. Erik doesn’t want to think about Shaw or his capabilities more than he has to.

“I just don’t understand why he’d do this,” Charles says once they’re on the move, following Remy through the winding city. His voice has a hint of quiet desperation to it that makes Erik’s heart ache. He’s trying to find the words to comfort him when he realises that Charles is talking to Remy, and suddenly it dawns on Erik that there’s every chance Charles blames him for their current situation. As far as Charles is aware, Erik’s taking the book is what led to Raven possessing it in the first place. In a way, Erik supposes, even if he wasn’t the one to originally steal the book, the blame for Raven’s kidnapping lies squarely on his shoulders.

Erik thinks of Tony, thinks of the way he didn’t get there in time, didn’t save him. Silently, he falls into step behind Charles and Remy and hopes that he does better this time.

 

 

The stone is cold against Raven’s skin, but it’s the last thing on her mind. Hands and ankles bound, she squirms on the dais, craning her neck until she can see Shaw behind her.

“You’re sure this will work?” Emma questions in a low voice.

Shaw nods, running one hand over the Book of Amun-Ra in almost a caress. “Xavier isn’t the only one who’s dedicated years of research to this book. Just a little longer, and we’ll have the power to raise a long-dead army.”

“It’s just a damn _book_!” Raven yells. Janos glares at her and Emma and Shaw ignore her entirely. “You’re all insane, I don’t want any part in this.”

With a smile, Shaw reaches out to tug experimentally on the ropes binding her before he takes the puzzle box off Emma and sets the book down on the dais beside Raven’s head.

“Almost time,” he murmurs, twisting the box carefully until it springs open. And then, as if he knows exactly what to do, Shaw fits the box into an indentation on the book’s cover and it clicks open.

 

 

“I hope you know where you’re going,” Erik mutters as Remy lights a large torch and leads them down a dark staircase. The walls of the passage are caked with dirt and damp to the touch, the light of Remy’s fire licking along the stone as they move deeper.

“If we get out of here alive, remind me never to come looking for Hamunaptra again,” Charles pipes up from behind him. Erik looks over his shoulder and cracks a grin, but Charles looks hastily back at the ground beneath his feet.

From up ahead, Remy suddenly seems to come to a stop. “Might not come to that. We got ourselves a problem.”

“What is it?” Erik asks, but even as he takes the last few stairs to catch up to Remy, he understands. “I thought you said you knew where you were going,” Erik says, raising an eyebrow in Remy’s direction.

In front of them is a strict dead-end, a small room with no apparent way to move forward. “We don’t have _time_ for this,” Charles groans in frustration, and Erik is about to vent his frustrations at the wall when Remy shakes his head.

“This _is_ the way, it’s the _only_ way. We gotta get through somehow.”

“It’s a _dead end_ , LeBeau, what do you expect us to--”

A loud scuttling sound suddenly cuts Erik off, soft at first and gradually growing louder. “What on Earth….?” Charles mutters, but the noise is getting louder, almost enough to drown him out.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Remy curses, pulling his gun from his hip and backing towards the stairs. “Xavier, you’re the brains, you better sort this shit out _now_.”

Charles looks at him blankly. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

Before Remy even gets a chance to answer, Erik can see them. Hundreds of small black scarabs, oozing through the cracks in the walls. Overwhelming and less-than-pleasant, Erik notes, but hardly harmful. And then one of them reaches Remy and Erik can swear he hears the sound of cloth and _skin_ tearing, and Remy is swearing and reaching for his knife.

“ _Goddamn_ ,” he growls, slashing a deep cut in his thigh. Erik stares as the beetle falls to the floor and scurries away. Remy follows it up with a blast from his pistol.  
“What the fuck--” Erik means to ask, but then there’s no time. The room is filled with them, the scuttling filling his ears as they creep across the floor towards him. Hastily, Erik shoves Charles behind him, back onto the stairs, and follows Remy’s lead. The sound of gunshots fills room, but there’s too many and Erik knows it. They have to get out.

“Back the way we came, go!”

“ _No_ ,” Charles replies, the desperation in his tone enough to stop Erik before he physically drags Charles away. “We have to keep going, Raven…”

“So then figure this out, Xavier!” Remy shouts back, firing off another round as another group of scarabs comes dangerously close to his foot.

“Okay, okay. This is Hamunaptra, they obviously didn’t want people to find it, didn’t want people getting into the heart of the city…” Charles is muttering quickly under his breath, his brow knitted in concentration. Erik spares him a glance and attempts to convey his best _hurry the fuck up_ face. “Passages, right? There _must_ be hidden passages, what _look_ like dead ends but really aren’t, no sense in a staircase leading to a dead end room with nothing in it…”

“Any time today, Charles,” Erik bites out through gritted teeth, kicking a scarab to the far wall and blasting it for good measure.

“The walls, I have to feel the walls,” Charles is saying, and then he’s pushing Erik aside and heading forward. Erik curses loudly, firing off as many shots as he can around Charles’s vicinity, attempting to give him a clear path. Charles is barely even paying attention, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him as he follows it around the room, his fingers touching and prodding, until finally he lets out a shout of surprise. “I’ve got it!”

“Enough talk, more getting us the hell out of here!”

Charles grins, pressing hard on a block of stone, just slightly more raised than the rest. Erik can see it give way beneath Charles’s touch, and then there’s the sound of stone shifting and a doorway creaks open.  
“Go!” Erik yells. Remy wastes no time, following Charles through the passage and disappearing into the darkness. Erik follows suit and the three of them throw their weight into pushing the wall back into place. A single scarab manages to get through before the door shuts, and Erik crushes a heavy boot onto it with a satisfied crunch.

 

 

The words tumbling out of Shaw’s mouth make no sense to her, but Raven can’t help the way it makes her stomach churn and her fingers tremble. She can’t tell what he’s saying or doing, not exactly, but she can hear the malice in his voice and she knows it’s nothing good.

Emma watches him, her eyes wide with rapture as he spills nonsense in ancient Egyptian. Shifting on the stone altar, Raven tries her hardest to find her bearings and look for an escape route. Shaw’s voice is getting louder, more enthusiastic. She can hear the excitement in his voice, almost tripping over his own tongue in his rush to finish reading the inscriptions.

“Charles where the fuck _are_ you,” Raven mutters, and then she hears gunfire.

 

 

“It just doesn’t make any _sense_!” Charles groans, bewildered. Had Shaw stolen the book from Raven and disappeared, Charles would have understood. He would have been livid, but it would at least have made sense to him. As it is, Shaw has taken both the book _and_ Raven, and for some reason beyond Charles’s grasp, taken them both deep into the heart of Hamunaptra. “What could he _possibly_ be hoping to achieve?”

Erik spares him a glance and a shrug before he turns back to the path in front of them, lighting the way with his large torch. Remy says nothing, but Charles sees the way his shoulders stiffen a little from in front of him, the way his silence hangs heavy in the air.

“What is it, Remy?”

“You ain’t the only one who’s spent all their time lookin’ for that damn book, cher.”

If anything, his answer just confuses Charles further. If Shaw knew exactly what the Book of Amun-Ra was worth, surely he would have hightailed it out of Hamunaptra as soon as he had his hands on it?

“So why on earth would he--”

Remy cuts him off, stopping in his tracks to turn around and fix Charles with a steady gaze. “That book’s worth more than you ever _dreamed_. But I’m not talking about gold.”

Erik snorts from up in front. “It’s a book. A very famous, very valuable book, but still a book.”

“Only if you don’t believe. Your friend Sebastian Shaw? He believes more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Charles rolls his eyes and shakes his head as realisation dawns on him. “You can’t be serious. He doesn’t honestly believe the book has the power to raise the dead.”

Remy answers with a slow shrug of his shoulders.

“But Erik’s right! It’s just a book, despite all the fuss. How could it _possibly_ do anything like that, it’s all just rumours and hearsay…” A second thought flickers in the corner of Charles’s brain, demanding that he give it attention. It takes him only a moment, and then the pieces slot into place and he makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “If he really thinks he can raise the dead… What does he need Raven for?”

Some part of him already knows the answer, but he stares at Remy and waits for an answer anyway, desperate for it to be something else.

“Human sacrifice,” Remy says in a low voice at the same time as Erik says, “We’re here.”

 

 

The sound of a gunshot startles Raven so much she almost falls off the altar, but she’s pretty sure it shocks Shaw more. With a startled jolt, he drops the book, a heavy thud sounding out as it hits the ground.  
“Lensherr and Xavier,” Emma snaps. In seconds, Shaw is pulling a pistol from his hip and moving away from Raven. Craning her neck, she can see the book, but not Shaw. There’s been nothing since the first gunshot and Raven is beginning to think they’ve abandoned her when she hears Charles’s voice ring out.

“Let her go, Shaw!”

Raven has never heard a sweeter sound in her life. “Charles!” she calls, wriggling on the stone to try and loosen the ropes securing her.

“Guns down or I’ll put them down for you,” another voice bites out. Raven pinpoints it as Lensherr and grins.

“How did you find us?” Emma questions haughtily. Raven hears footsteps and Shaw practically growls.   
“LeBeau, of course. We really should have gotten rid of you before we left, but there’s still plenty of time for that now.”

With one last effort, Raven manages to tug one wrist out of her bonds, just barely managing to keep herself from crying out in triumph. Instead, she quietly sets about undoing the rest until finally she can move freely.

“Give us Raven--”

“And the book--”

“--and we’ll walk away. Please, nobody has to come to harm.” There’s a note of fear in Charles’s voice that rings clearer than anything else. Raven thinks of Charles in his library and compares him to this Charles, the one standing tall in the heart of Hamunaptra with a gun pointed at his face and can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

She expects Shaw to argue, bargain maybe, but then he raises his pistol and fires, and suddenly Raven knows real fear. He’s not playing around, she realises as Erik dives to the side, anticipating the shot just in time. She’s about to breathe a sigh of relief and praise Lensherr’s instincts when she hears a groan of pain and sees red blossom through his shirt. Clipped in the right shoulder.

“Erik!” Charles shouts, and then there’s gunfire everywhere, filling Raven’s ears until she can’t hear anything else.

 

 

For a split second, Erik congratulates himself on a well-timed dodge, and then he feels the pain shock down his arm. He hits the ground hard, feels the blood soaking his shirt, but knows that it’s just his shoulder. He’s come back from worse, he thinks. Then he hears Charles call out his name, and the fear and worry in his voice adds something extra, makes Erik’s stomach flip hard.

From the ground he can hear shots and he knows it’s Remy, somewhere to his left. There’s a scraping sound as something slides to the ground beside him and he turns to see Charles, his eyes wild.

“Are you okay?” Charles asks, desperate, but Erik just nods and pushes him hard. Charles is unarmed and the last thing he needs right now.

“Get Raven and go,” Erik says sharply, giving Charles another hard shove as he gets to his feet. “Go!”

From the corner of his eye, Erik can see Emma dragging Janos away. Before he can even register it completely they’re gone, slipping through a passage and out of sight.  
Instead, he focuses his gaze on Shaw where he’s found cover behind the stone altar. Erik can see his fingers scrabbling in the sand in an attempt to reach the book without losing his cover, but Raven acts before Erik even gets a chance. With one hand holding Charles’s, Raven lunges and presses her foot down hard on Shaw’s fingers.

“Leave it,” she demands, smirking in triumph as he slowly withdraws his fingers. Raven bends and grabs it, clutching the book tight to her chest before she turns back to Charles. “Come on.”

“ _No_ ,” Remy curses. Erik understands a second too late.

More silent than a fox, Emma slinks back and has a gun to Charles’s head before any of them knows what’s happening. Charles blinks, and a small “ _oh_ ,” leaves his lips as he realises what’s happened.

“Back off, Frost,” Erik bites out through gritted teeth, but Shaw is getting to his feet and they’ve lost their advantage. Remy keeps his pistol aimed squarely at Shaw and Erik keeps his trained on Emma and Charles, hung in indecision.

“The book,” Emma returns.

Erik hesitates, the gears in his mind churning so fast he can barely think, his lips set into a hard line. He doesn’t know when Charles became his limit, when it became crossing the line for anybody to touch him, but it is. For a second he sees Tony, sees dead eyes and a retreating pistol. Not again, he swears. Charles isn’t Tony and this isn’t the Legion, Erik knows, but he can’t get the sight out of his head, can’t see anything but Charles’s blue eyes blown wide, his hands trembling at his side no matter how hard he tries to keep from showing it.

“Drop your weapon, Erik. You too, LeBeau.”

A quick glance to his right tells Erik that Raven still has the book, almost at the entrance to the passageway before she stopped still at the sight of her brother at gunpoint.

“Give him the book, Raven,” Erik says slowly, and carefully lowers his weapon, bending to settle it on the sand without taking his eyes off Emma.

“Erik--” Charles starts, but Erik shushes him with a look.

Eyes burning with hatred, Raven steps forward, the book in her outstretched hand. Erik counts the seconds, measures every movement, and he can _see_ the instant that Emma lets her guard down, as Shaw’s fingers curl around the book and her finger relaxes on the trigger.

“Remy!” Erik shouts, and it’s enough. With the speed and precision that comes from military training, Erik’s second pistol is in his hands faster than Emma can move, faster than Shaw remembers his own pistol, abandoned as soon as the book changed hands.

“Charles, down!” Raven yells. Erik has a second to appreciate how quickly she caught on before he fires, seeing Shaw hit the ground at the same time as Remy turns his sight on Emma.

“Get outta here, Frost,” he drawls, and she takes one look at Shaw before she complies.

 

 

“You can’t tell me you’re not at least a tiny bit reluctant to give it up.”

“I have learned, Erik, that this book brings nothing but trouble. I think I’m content to leave it in more capable hands. Besides, I can look at it whenever I like.”

Surrounded by glass instead of sand, Erik thinks the Book of Amun-Ra loses some of its appeal, instantly looking less like treasure the moment it was mounted and displayed in the Ramasseum. Charles looks as content as he says though, a bright smile adorning his lips. Other than a few scrapes and a brightness to his eyes, there’s really no evidence that Erik can see of Charles’s expedition. He’d submitted the book as an anonymous find, refusing to even lend his name to the records.

“You could have sold it for millions,” Erik reminds him, and Charles just smiles.

“Yes, I suppose I could have.”

The wound in Erik’s shoulder has been healing nicely, but it still twinges a little when he laughs.

“Erik, we should talk about what happened,” Charles says, suddenly serious, and Erik sobers immediately. They’re alone in the museum, Charles’s first day setting foot back in his library since Raven came to him with a puzzle box and the name of a man in prison.

“What did you want to talk about?” Erik asks, the words slow and measured on his tongue. He’s been waiting for this for a week, anticipating the moment that he would have to acknowledge that their whirlwind expedition is over.

“Back at Hamunaptra… Erik, you went above and beyond the call of duty. I wanted to thank you, for going after Raven. It was hardly what we originally asked of you.”

“You think I would have just left the two of you to deal with Shaw alone?” Erik asks, and if the reminder of Shaw sends a sharp sting of guilt into his heart, he refuses to acknowledge it.

“Well, no. But I wanted to thank you all the same.” Charles is looking at him with those damn earnest eyes again and Erik remembers Hamunaptra before everything went to hell, remembers those eyes in the dark and Charles’s lips on his.

“I never stole the book,” Erik says, because he hasn’t heard Charles mention it since, and part of him wonders if Charles still believes it.

He’s expecting Charles to smile and say “I know,” or even, if he’s being more pessimistic, deny him entirely. What he doesn’t expect is Charles’s startled laughter, loud and unapologetic in the quiet of the library.

“I think you more than proved that, Erik,” he says, and then Erik feels warm hands on his chest, pressing him back against one of the stacks. “I trust you,” Charles says, barely a whisper, and then his lips find Erik’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Minor character death: Sebastian Shaw. Past character death: Tony Stark (sorry!)


End file.
